


loves way

by dinosaurchestra



Series: ison [3]
Category: The Stanley Parable
Genre: M/M, fight the tsp discord 4 this, stanley punches the narrator. nothing of worth happens.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-29 21:42:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18786778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinosaurchestra/pseuds/dinosaurchestra
Summary: He’s sitting on the Narrator’s desk, in the liminal space beside the Parable and beside what he considers as real, Stanley watches him write the Deluxe. Casually. “You ever sparred with someone?”The Narrator looks at Stanley like he’s killed someone.(Technically true.)“Pardon?”





	loves way

He’s sitting on the Narrator’s desk, in the liminal space beside the Parable and beside what he considers as real, Stanley watches him write the Deluxe. Casually. “You ever sparred with someone?”

The Narrator looks at Stanley like he’s killed someone.

(Technically true.)

“Pardon?”

Stanley knows he heard him.

“I don’t see why I would have to.” The Narrator’s face contorts, confused. “I’m not one to throw a fist so _blindly_ , Stanley.”

Stanley waits a moment, slowly nodding along, before he nods along to his own following statement. “We should fight.”

“No, Stanley.”

“Yes, Stanley.”

“That’s my job."

Stanley raises a brow, not quite convinced. He slips a hand ‘neath the Narrator’s sweatered shoulder, hooks a finger over the collar to drag him to stand. The Deluxe’s pages under the typewriter remain antiseptic and half - polished as they look at each other, narrator and protagonist, hand in unforgivable hand. Intertwined both in fate and in narrative.

Stanley watches the Adam’s Apple bob under the other’s skin, “To fight you; ah, that would be quite unprofessional of me,” and a murmuring under the Narrator’s breath, ambivalent and benign as he averts his eyes from Stanley’s briar stare,  _ Idon’twanttohurtyou _ , a tenderness lulling in the breadth of his ribs. 

Almost just like that, Stanley gives him reason to.

He slams the Narrator in the jaw and the entity hits him square in the face; he staggers back and the Narrator follows him forward to correct himself with one fist in Stanley’s hair, pinning him to the wall, white to beige, one knee upwards into his stomach to shatter a rib, Stanley spitting blood and delirious. 

Inhaling glass, Stanley hits him again and earns a black eye for daring, wretched as he falls, blood trailing the wall behind him as another punch from the Narrator blurs his vision — he weakly lifts his head to face the other and only gets a slashed lip with one crooked claw for his effort, a spinning head, too much luck to do anything with. The eyes are many and taunting.   
  
Stanley stares at him. He smiles.

The Narrator delicately steps over, touches all over the marred flesh to where he’d smashed Stanley’s face in. (Blood threads through a thin line of saliva that hangs between their lips as he pulls away.) “I told you.”

_ But you still went along with it anyway, _ Stanley mutters, and watches his body vanish and reappear back sitting on the Narrator’s desk with care items and gauze in those sceptiferous hands belonging to the Narrator, sitting behind his typewriter, glasses reflecting trypophobic. The Narrator sets them beside where Stanley sits, admiring his handiwork, narcissist unfettered.

“Gosh,” and all Stanley can focus on is the eyes embedded deep into the whitened whorls of the Narrator’s knuckles, staring up at him through lens stained red and bloodshot by Stanley as the fingers attached to it dab over his wounds with a tissue. “You get yourself into quite a lot of trouble, don’t you?”   


He is mocking. Stanley’s lips are full of blood as the Narrator leans back in his chair, barbed wire gore coating his hands, belonging not to a person but to a concept.

**Author's Note:**

> ok gamers. this is pretty epic


End file.
